


One Kiss Away From Killing

by LadyIrina



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, Heahmund is tired, Ivar's POV, Jealousy, M/M, possessive Ivar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 07:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13289703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina
Summary: There is a battle of wills between Ivar and Heahmund as the war approaches.Heahmund crosses the line and unleashes something dormant in Ivar...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am in awe at the response my first fic got and since people asked for more; I couldn't help myself!  
> This is a stand-alone, but also companion piece to Battle of Wills (http://archiveofourown.org/works/13206726/chapters/30210069 )  
> This one has Ivar's POV.  
> Chapter 1 is a recap of BoW, chapter 2 is new pure filth.

Bringing the Bishop back with them had been an impulsive decision, but Ivar did not regret making it.

While most people thought no further than their next meal, if that, Ivar was always thinking ahead. He had to, to prove his superiority over everybody else, and at the moment, he was thinking about the coming battle for Kattegat.  
He had Hvitserk on his side and knew it would be easy to persuade King Harald to join forces with him, but going up against Lagertha and his brothers meant it couldn’t hurt to have a powerful warrior like the Bishop amongst his fighters. Because a powerful warrior the man was, he’d seen him fight in York where he cut down many men in his path without it even slowing him down.

That being said, Ivar had not expected the man to be interesting as well as skilled in battle. How someone as powerful and clever like the Bishop could be such an idiot was a mystery to him. Heahmund kept rambling on about his god, barely spoke of anything else, yet there were glimmers of something in the depths of him that was hopefully worth Ivar’s time. 

The challenge would be to make the Bishop fight for him. Luck was on the Christian’s side that day, because Ivar did love a good challenge!

He began to map the man’s mind, find his weaknesses and how to use it against him, prodding and provoking to see what got him which response and Ivar realized he hadn’t had such fun in ages. It was far too easy to provoke the Bishop, but it was hilarious to watch. 

During his captivity in York, unease could be found in his eyes and in the tremors that would sometimes run through his body, yet Heahmund proudly proclaimed he feared no man, including him, and Ivar believed him. If given the chance, the Bishop would not have hesitated to fight Ivar and their entire army all over again.  
That was when Ivar decided to bring him home.

Ivar started wearing Bishop Heahmund down, keeping him hungry, always cold and letting his men throw the occasional punch or kick at the prisoner. It was all a matter of waiting for the right moment to present his offer of how Heahmund could survive, with his idiotic principles intact. 

(Also, if he refused, if he turned down Ivar’s most generous offer, there was always the opportunity to torture a Christian to death. That was always fun! There was just no way Ivar could lose here.)

Heading towards an alliance with King Harald, crossing the ocean, Ivar watched the Bishop carefully. The further away he got him from his homeland, the easier it would be to get him see things his way.  
Or so he thought. Until the idiotic man reacted to his threat of crucifying him by rambling his religious nonsense at the feet of King Harald.

Anger flared up in Ivar, an instinctive reaction to the Christian god invading his homeland and his prisoner showing disrespect in front of a potential ally, and his hand flew out to take a harsh hold of Bishop Heahmund’s hair and yanked his head back to shut him up.

Incredibly enough, the man glared up at him with defiant silence.

Deciding to have the guards smack him around a bit for that piece of rebellion, Ivar also felt a greedy craving. Oh, he really wanted this man on his side. This was the kind of backbone he needed if his army was to face his oldest brother!

-

Later he ventured to where the Bishop was currently chained up; Ivar figured he had to be exhausted by then. As even great warriors had their limits, he didn’t want to wait too long to approach him. He wanted him worn down, not broken.  
Settling himself inside the room, Ivar then used the one thing he knew the Christian couldn’t dismiss; the truth. He explained why he’d saved him and why Heahmund could fight for Ivar and not betray his god. Telling him to consider his options wisely, Ivar left him to think.

The very next day, he demanded the Bishop’s decision and was utterly unprepared for when Heahmund asked for the knife held against his chest. Ivar saw the slight smile on the Christian’s face, clearly expecting to be denied the request. He handed him the knife, earning a faint laugh of disbelief, partially because he would have to trust him with sharp objects if he was to fight for him, but also largely because he had absolutely no idea what Heahmund intended to do with it. It was fascinating!

When the Bishop placed the knife against his own chest, Ivar wondered for a half a second if he really did intend to kill himself, but eventually he turned it on the loudmouthed taunter bellowing in his face and Ivar couldn’t contain his gleeful laugh.

Bishop Heahmund had taken his line; bitten down on his hook and was his to reel in! Of course, this did not mean the man wouldn’t stab Ivar in the back at the first given chance, animals had killed many a hunter when they were trapped, but he had his warrior!

A feast followed, to celebrate Heahmund’s wise choice and the union of Ivar and Harald’s army.

The Christian looked around the room with disdain as the mood rose. Ivar raised his cup to him in a salute, knowing it would infuriate the man, and laughed out loud when Heahmund responded by lifting his own cup and sending him a smile so fake it fooled no one.

When a couple got a bit entangled next to the good Bishop, he got a look of congestion, crossed himself and stalked out of the room. The two guards appointed to keep an eye on him hurried after.  
Participating in the feast, especially the drinking, for a while longer, Ivar eventually got bored. He felt slightly drunk and decided to seek his entertainment elsewhere. What was the point of having a prisoner if he couldn’t torment him a little?

Ironically it backfired in the most unexpected way ever!

Exchanging a few barbs, they were interrupted by a couple stumbling by, and in his drunken haze; Ivar felt a flicker of arousal at the sight of the flustered girl. Desire and thick resentment battled within him when the door slammed shut on the couple and the Bishop glared over at him.

“Jealous, Bishop?” Ivar taunted, remembering how Heahmund had dismissed the idea of bedding any of his women. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you a slave-girl?”

Bishop Heahmund frowned and Ivar was deeply amused at the situation. He doubted the man was immune to lust. He was too alive and too… enticing for that; tall, handsome and radiating strength with his powerful form. Perfectly whole.

That was when Heahmund leaned over and kissed him.  
  
Wait, what?

-

Strangely enough, it was a gentle kiss. Ivar could have handled a harsh demand of a kiss, would have had the Christian crucified before he could even think about praying, but the gentle touch to his lips bewildered him.

“What are you…” Ivar began, but Heahmund merely kissed him again.

Ivar pulled out a knife and pressed it against the Bishop’s chest, making Heahmund focus his eyes on him, but he didn’t quite know what to do next. He was a little drunk, distracted by a moment of pure want, surprised at the feeling of lips against his and so very angry. He wanted to gut him, and crawl inside him and steal that perfect warrior body of his. He wanted to… He wanted…

Heahmund kissed him again, a little firmer this time, almost leaning against the blade, touching his neck, and Ivar found himself unable to move. The anger dissolved. All he could feel was the sensation of the Bishop’s scruffy chin scraping against his own skin and how that made arousal lick its way up his spine in the most delicious way possible.

When Heahmund leaned away, Ivar automatically moved after him, before his senses kicked through his haze and made him yank himself away. Anger mixed with arousal bubbled inside him, but the idea of making a fool out of himself in front of Heahmund like it had happened with Margrethe was even worse than the insult over the prisoner’s impudence at pulling a move like that.

Ivar shoved him away and stalked out of the room. His heart pounded for ages afterwards.

Unable to stop thinking about what had happened, he took his revenge on the training field the next day, beating Heahmund on the slippery ground, but of course the cursed man had to appear in his room later to apologize for losing his temper and shoving Ivar into the mud. As if that mattered, when Ivar was the one who was victorious and had the Christian yield in front of everyone.

The moment where he’d stared at Heahmund’s mouth, all too vividly remembering how it felt against his own, that did not happen! 

What did happen was Ivar tricking the good Bishop within reach by telling him to help him move over to his bed. Amused by Heahmund’s discomfort, maybe he was feeling embarrassed at what he’d done, yet approving of his physical strength, Ivar decided it was time for some payback. “Who are you really? Do you even know? Or have you been hiding behind that cross of yours for too long?” This time, Ivar kissed him. Angrily. To prove ‘he’ wasn’t afraid. He was in control!

It felt different this time. It didn’t make him feel weak or confused. That lasted until Heahmund set the gods aside and merely leaned in, slowly, to brush his lips against his as he’d done the night before. “No gods then,” he said. “Just us.”

That! That damn feeling again! Ivar frowned confused, not sure how to respond, but strangely reluctant to end it.

No one had used a gentle touch on him since his mother. She had doted on him when everyone else thought him useless and wrong. Getting older, he’d learned to shun a gentle touch, determined to show he was every bit as tough as his brothers! But now, he found himself craving it.

-

Heahmund might be a Christian man, but his mouth must have been created by Freya herself! When he nudged Ivar’s mouth open and his tongue slid into his mouth as if it had every right to be there, Ivar was enthralled by the feeling. He even allowed the Bishop’s hand to explore his chest and was surprised to feel his body jolt with excitement. He abruptly decided to give as good as he got!

How long since he’d felt desire like this? He’d occasionally feel small embers, a hint, but that was usually smothered; quickly and efficiently. Ivar had not allowed himself to feel this since…

That was when Heahmund’s mouth left his, only to relocate to his neck; licking lazily at where he could feel his pulse thump erratically. Again the scruff of Heahmund’s beard dragged across his skin and sent shudders of molten heat straight for Ivar’s groin. Did he make that broken sound…?

It was only when he felt Heahmund’s hand move down his stomach and Ivar realized its intent that cold fear shot through him. Grabbing and halting the hand, he refused to meet the quizzical gaze the other man sent him. 

This had been a mistake. A huge mistake! Ivar knew he couldn’t… He remembered too well the fiasco with Margrethe. The humiliation. He couldn’t handle failing again. Especially not in front of a Christian! He would have to kill the man he’d spent ages recruiting. Stupid, Ivar thought to himself, this had been incredibly stupid and a huge mistake!

His thoughts were interrupted by the touch of those damn lips again. His mouth was already tender from the previous kisses and rough caresses from the beard, making it even more sensitive and vulnerable to the unholy power those lips possessed. 

He felt his resolve weaken and moments later, Heahmund’s hand slipped between his legs.

Yet, the Bishop’s touch appeared to be as magical as his lips and the big rough hand felt so much better than the small and delicate grip of Margrethe. _Yes_ , his body seemed to say, _yes, this works!_

Heahmund stared, defiant even in this, into Ivar’s eyes as he lifted his own hand, licked his palm and wrapped those fingers around the part of him he’d never forgiven for betraying him along with his legs. Ivar shut his eyes tight at the sensation and felt his cock hardening under the magic until he was aching for more under determined movements. A release beckoned from the distance but he had no idea how to get there.

And just when he couldn’t take anymore, when doubt was screaming at the back of his mind that he’d never be able to finish after all, Ivar felt his face be guided to yet another soft kiss while Heahmund’s thumb slid over the most sensitive part of his cock. 

Euphoria slammed into Ivar with the power of the entire Great Army. A groan got stuck in his throat, unable to escape, and he shuddered through his release with endless pleasure and disbelief. For the first time in his entire life, Ivar couldn’t think. His mind went blank under the onslaught.

Once his senses returned to him, leaving him almost giddy, Ivar saw Heahmund reaching for himself. That just wouldn’t do! So he promptly pushed him down and took matters into his own hands. Literally. He wouldn’t be outdone by a damn Christian!

Watching the man crumble under his touch was ‘almost’ as sweet as wrapping his other hand around Heahmund’s throat and tightening his grip to prevent him from making the increasingly louder moans. Moans that could easily attract attention and have people bursting into the room. By Odin, the man was loud, both in prayer and in bed!

Ivar had been careful not to break Heahmund in captivity, but he was thrilled to watch him break under his hand and observed as that powerful body shuddered helplessly; burning the image into his mind so he would able to remember every detail later.

Once they regained their wits and Heahmund his voice, he asked Ivar what he was thinking. Ivar told him the truth. He was thinking about how everyone had betrayed him and how he wondered if Heahmund would do the same and if he should kill him before he got the chance. Could Heahmund be someone who would not betray him?

“I’m the one, Ivar.” Heahmund stated. “You can believe in me.”

Ivar gave a cold smile. “We’ll see.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure filth.  
> Again.  
> Also, I fear that episode 5x07 has spawned an idea for a third part of this, so... yeah... I'm sorry!

The preparations for the war continued. Ivar was eager to reclaim his home, but he also knew the value of making sure all of his pieces were in place before he moved to the next stage of his plan.

The Bishop spent more time out of his room too by now, wandering around the village with his two guards trailing behind him, as if everyone didn’t know he could kill them and escape any time he wanted to. Instead, he watched and learned the Vikings ways. Excellent, in theory.

To his irritation, Ivar discovered that if the man was nearby, he’d find himself distracted and his gaze would slide over to the Christian instead of focusing on his current task. The awakening of his desire had led to a constant hunger in his blood, which was really annoying, and while he had considered calling for a slave-girl to ease it, he tensed up at the thought of failing again.  
Gritting his teeth and forcing himself to focus, Ivar told himself to merely ignore it. He’d done so for many years, it shouldn’t be a problem.

The sudden sound of Heahmund’s laughter made Ivar’s head snap up so fast he felt a slight pinch of pain in his neck and he scouted for the source.

The Bishop had been approached by one of the slave-girls Ivar had considered summoning and her sweet laugh mixed with Heahmund’s own brief one. She was resting a basket on her hip, giving the Christian big doe eyes and all her charms.  
Ivar was struck by a sudden urge to throw an axe. It was almost unsettling to see the warrior Bishop smiling instead of glaring. Clearly the charms were not wasted.

With no axe within reach, Ivar sneered and ended up hobbling away to avoid the sight.

When evening slid over the land and the sun set, Ivar was seething with anger. How dared he? Hadn’t Heahmund proudly proclaimed he’d never bed one of their slave-girls? Was this one so special? What was so special about her? Nothing! 

Was her skin rubbed sensitive by Heahmund’s facial hair by now? Did she tremble at the touch of those big, rough hands on her? Would Heahmund make those loud noises again? Her hands would be far too small to hold him down and silence the man…

What gave her the right to touch ‘his’ prisoner?! She was nothing but a slave!

Ivar grabbed his crutch, got up and made his way towards Heahmund’s room. He pushed the door open and stomped inside, smugly satisfied to see the fully-dressed Christian jump out of bed with a startled look on his face and ready to defend himself.

Satisfaction was then tainted with relief when there was no sign of the slave-girl. At least he’d gotten rid of her afterwards. Good. Ivar would hate to have her killed. No, wait, he would have loved to have her killed, actually.

“Ivar?” Heahmund sounded wary, glancing from him to the open door and back again. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” Ivar said, taking a couple of steps further into the room, while Heahmund passed by him to close the door. Turning to face the Christian again, Ivar smiled, though it was probably more of a sneer. “Except, I thought Christians were forbidden to lie.”

Heahmund stepped over to stand in front of him and frowned. “I have not lied to you, Ivar.”

Not yet, lingered in the air.

-

“You said you’d have no interest in our slave-girls. You lied.” Ivar stated.

Heahmund’s frown merely deepened. “What are you…” He suddenly realized what Ivar was talking about and huffed a laugh. “I assure you, that was a conversation. Nothing more.”

Ivar glared, but everything he saw about the man’s posture and heard in his voice told him he was telling the truth. Suffering through a blood eagle would not have made Ivar admit to the relief that flooded him. A relief that was followed by unbearable impatience.  
Using his crutch, Ivar maneuvered himself nearer the Bishop and he leaned dangerously close to his face. “Touch me again,” Ivar growled. “Like you did.”

Heahmund blinked surprised but quickly turned tense and defensive. “Is that an order?” He asked coolly. 

Ivar almost said yes, Heahmund was a prisoner and had no right to refuse, but then he noticed the steel in the man’s eyes. This was something he could never achieve with threats or demands. Ivar was forced to use the one word he hated and could barely make himself utter. Avoiding Heahmund’s eyes, Ivar ground it out. “Please…?”

There was a moment when nothing happened and Ivar felt his temper rising at the humiliation, but then one of Heahmund’s hands came up to cup his face and he automatically leaned into the touch. His shoulders slumped and yet again; the anger bled out of Ivar’s body at the physical contact.

He was guided by Heahmund’s hand to turn his face back to his and was rewarded with a gentle kiss. The feeling made Ivar’s pulse pick up its pace. He was already leaning in for a second kiss when the Bishop let his hand slide down to Ivar’s shoulder and prevented him. Frowning, instantly suspicious and annoyed, Ivar relented. “What?”

Heahmund nodded towards the bed. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” Ivar stated, considering refusing just to prove he didn’t take orders from a Christian.

As if he could read his thoughts, Heahmund gave a small but amused smile. “I would think sitting down would be more practical. For us both.”

While tempted to decline, out of pure spite, Ivar decided to agree to his suggestion; simply because he wanted a whole lot more than a kiss and that was the easiest way to get it. He made his way over to the bed, dropped his crutch, turned and sat down heavily with a grunt. The Bishop followed and kneeled down in front of him to start undoing the buckles on the braces on Ivar’s legs.  
Watching Heahmund, Ivar suddenly remembered seeing his brother on his knees in front of the standing Margrethe and the sounds of pleasure she made. He wondered how that felt. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being on your knees.”

Heahmund only seemed even more amused, not taking his eyes off his task. “There is nothing wrong in remembering to be humble. We are all but soldiers to our gods in this world. We merely do their will.” He glanced briefly up at him; pointedly. “A little humility might do you some good, Ivar.”

Ivar shook his head with a mocking scoff, which ended in a soft hiss as his right footbrace came off. “I know what I am and I do not waste time pretending to be something I’m not. I decide my fate.”

The words made Heahmund nod thoughtfully, undoing the other brace, but didn’t speak again before he carefully lifted Ivar’s legs into the bed. “Take off your shirt.”

Ivar’s hackles rose. He’d already indulged him once. If he was starting to think he could order Ivar around, then Bishop Heahmund had another thing coming to him. “Why?”

“Because I want to see you.”

“You have seen me without a shirt before.” Ivar paused and then said; “You remove yours first.”

Heahmund did not hesitate. He merely pulled his shirt off in a smooth movement and let it drop to the floor, letting Ivar look his full of his broad and battle-scarred torso while waiting for him to do the same.  
Ivar clenched his jaw. He couldn’t back out now or he’d seem like a coward. So he removed his gloves and then, less elegantly, yanked off his shirt. A firm refusal was on the tip of his tongue if the man suggested the pants should go too. It was bad enough the Christian knew his legs were useless, but he did not get to see the frail and weak things!

Luckily, Heahmund was more interested in climbing into the bed with him, careful not to put his weight on Ivar’s legs when he crawled over and settled next to him. There he eased himself up on his side and reached out to pull Ivar into an instigating kiss.

-

Ivar would rarely admit to being wrong, but he could silently confess, inside the safety of his own head, that Heahmund’s idea of shedding their shirts and getting on the bed was a good one.

While their lips were busy, with an occasional visit by tongue and teeth, Ivar soon discovered he could let his hands explore the rest of the man. He could feel the power in Heahmund’s upper arms under his touch. He traced the scars on his skin and wondered if they were left there by his own kin. His curious fingertips mapped the muscles dancing with every one of the Bishop’s slight movements. 

Heahmund’s body felt remarkably different to Ivar from Margrethe’s and the other slave girl’s soft and curvy shape. He was warm and his skin was surprisingly smooth amidst scars and hair, but there was a latent strength and an undeniable solidness to it. It was a body built for war, for killing, he could almost taste it in every kiss and every touch. It tasted dangerous.

As Heahmund leaned against him, instinctively aiming to push Ivar over on his back, Ivar placed both hands on his shoulders and shoved him over on his back instead. He didn’t hesitate to follow and slide on top of Heahmund, taking his face between his hands and holding him steady for a claiming kiss; reminding him who was in charge.

Submitting amiably enough with a soft exhale, Heahmund was more interested in adjusting and shifting them both to be comfortable. He made another sigh, shaky with satisfaction once he managed to maneuver Ivar’s legs over to settle between his and Ivar clenched his jaw against a groan when he felt an eager hardness pressing against his own.  
Clearly Ivar hadn’t been the only one plagued by the memory of this and hungry for repeating it.

Unable to resist the temptation, Ivar ground his hips against Heahmund’s, seeking friction and pressure on his throbbing cock. The loud moan he got as a reward, in combination with Heahmund’s hips rising to meet his, made something snap inside Ivar.

While rutting against Margrethe had brought nothing but frustration, Ivar found himself drunk on the feeling of Heahmund’s unyielding yet willing body. The Christian panted and tugged eagerly at him, even sliding a leg around Ivar’s to help him move harder, and it was the sweetest torture ever created.

It made absolutely no sense when Heahmund suddenly placed a hand to Ivar’s chest and gasped out; “Wait.”

Shaking his head, Ivar didn’t even slow down. He was so close…

“Wait,” Heahmund repeated, pushing a little at him and reaching between them.

Forced to stop, Ivar was glaring at him between harsh breaths. He was about to snarl threats about blood eagles and crucifixion and whatever his hazy mind could conjure up at the moment, but then realized that Heahmund was tugging at the bindings of his pants. Oh.

-

Not only did he undo Ivar’s pants and pull his cock free, Heahmund did the same to himself. Lifting his hand to his face, he was momentarily puzzled when Ivar took a hold of his wrist; only to give a full body shiver when the younger man turned the hand to his face instead and slowly licked his palm.

In that moment, Heahmund was looking at him like Ivar was everything he wanted in life, so Ivar did it again.

Exhaling sharply, sounding like he was in pain, the Bishop tore his hand free and reached down between them. With a little shifting and adjusting, their cocks aligned and his fingers made sure to keep them together.

Ivar closed his eyes hard, hiding his face to Heahmund’s neck for a moment, overwhelmed at the sensation, and then he ‘had’ to move. Now, even Ivar couldn’t prevent the touch of sound at the end of his strained exhales.

It became a jumble of sensations, pleasure running through his body, the sound and feeling of Heahmund’s shivering gasps that evolved into moans that kept growing louder as their grinding became increasingly frantic and ragged…

To his frustration, Ivar’s options were limited, as he could either keep up his hard pace by having his hands on the bed as leverage, or he could place them on the other man but be unable to move as freely as he liked. One day, Ivar swore absently, one day he would have his way with the man and hear him scream underneath him, but until then… he’d rather not have the entire village storm in on them.

Leaning over and placing his weight on his left arm, Ivar reached up to take a firm hold of Heahmund’s throat with his right hand. Angry at his own limitations, Ivar pressed down hard on his throat, but that only made the other man buck his hips harder up against him and it soon became evident that Heahmund was more than able and willing to move for the both of them.

Ivar closed his eyes, breathing hard, savoring the feeling, relishing how the tension inside him was about to break, when he had a moment of doubt. Opening his eyes, he had one second where he dreaded that the previous incident with Heahmund had been a fluke. What if he couldn’t do it again? 

But Heahmund, blissfully unaware of his fears and not treating him like a cripple, merely pushed him on and beyond his worries. He kept grinding up at him, kept his hand on them and when his fingers tightened their grip ever so slightly; Ivar felt the man’s throat vibrate with a murdered scream. He had just enough time to feel the powerful body arch helplessly under him, watch as Heahmund pushed his head back into the bed and shut his eyes tight with his mouth open in his soundless scream, before Ivar locked up under his own mind-shattering release and swore he touched Valhalla.

Releasing his throat and then slumping on top of Heahmund once the intense rush eased off, Ivar tried to get air into his lungs while random shudders would run through him. A part of his brain registered that the Christian was every bit out of breath as he was, but he was too exhausted to gloat over it.

When the heat of their bodies and the intimacy became too much, Ivar moved off to lie on his side next to him and tucked his cock away while the other man wiped away the worst mess and then did the same before slumping down next to him again. As Heahmund was resting, blinking sleepily with half-closed eyes, Ivar reached out and almost touched the wide and dark bruising on his throat. Heahmund tensed up, wary, but didn’t move away.

Ivar decided he liked seeing Heahmund marked by him, wearing his touch for everyone to see. No one would ever doubt who he belonged to as long as he wore that; even if they didn’t know the full truth.  
It would fade though… Ivar wondered how the man would look if he took a knife to him to leave a permanent mark.

-

Feeling strangely lethargic, just like last time, Ivar decided to stay where he was for a while longer, unlike last time. He was comfortably drained, almost drowsy, content to merely entertain himself by watching Heahmund fight against sleep.  
Exhaling a smile as Heahmund jerked awake again, tossing a quick glance Ivar’s way to make sure he wasn’t about to stab him in his sleep, Ivar raised his eyebrows; pretending innocence to the man’s concerns.

Heahmund merely made an annoyed grunt of sorts. He stared stubbornly ahead for a while, making Ivar smile again, until he suddenly gave a great sigh and rolled over on his side, now facing and dangerously close to Ivar, and placed an arm over him.

“Get off me.” Ivar said, instinctively placing a hand on the heavy arm to push it away.

Squirming closer and resting his chin on Ivar’s shoulder, Heahmund closed his eyes. “I’m tired. It is late. You said this was to be my bed. You are in it.” He squirmed even closer, his entire body up against the side of Ivar now. “I trust you can fight your way free when you decide to leave.”

Ivar opened his mouth to order him away, to remove the arm or lose it, but for some reason; he didn’t.  
Since childhood, Ivar always slept alone. Except for that one night when he’d snuck into bed with the simpering Margrethe. He was used to sleeping alone by now, felt safer knowing there was no betrayal to fear from his own bed as he rested, but he still remembered falling asleep with arms around him and liking how it felt.

Hesitating, tense and wary, Ivar tried to decide what to do. A part of his mind screamed it would be suicidal, to sleep in a bed with a man who still was his prisoner and probably wanted him dead, but a different part pointed out that it was probably a wise idea to enjoy tings while he could.  
The big war was approaching and that meant either Heahmund would betray him and die, stay loyal and die on the battlefield or he’d survive and Ivar might end up having to kill him anyways. Why not allow them both this small thing?

Eventually Ivar began shifting over. At first Heahmund grunted annoyed at the disturbance, but when Ivar moved over on his side, his back turned towards the other man, and he allowed Heahmund to move close again while placing his arm securely around him; it resulted in a satisfied sigh.

As for Ivar, he found that he did like the feeling. Partially because Heahmund was warm and so very real, his lips by Ivar’s neck and his chest expanding with his every breath. If Ivar focused; he could almost feel Heahmund’s steady heartbeat against his back. It felt soothing beyond words.

But Ivar mostly approved of the fact that Heahmund’s arm wasn’t placed over his by accident. It appeared like an innocent act of wanting to be near his captor, but in reality it was a means of being able to rest while keeping a hold of Ivar’s own arms so he’d be warned if Ivar did try anything… homicidal. It proved that Heahmund was not housebroken or stupid. Good.

“Do you play Hnefatafl?” Ivar asked.

“Of course,” Heahmund mumbled sleepily, not opening his eyes or moving.

“Excellent.” Ivar allowed himself to relax as well. “Tomorrow, we shall play.”

“If you wish.” Heahmund was more asleep than not.

Ivar closed his eyes and smiled a little. He had his warrior, his warrior Bishop, it was time to explore if the man was as clever as Heahmund liked to believe and Ivar hoped he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pst; part three: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13353432/chapters/30575274


End file.
